


Pound of Flesh

by Arabwel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asshole Chris Argent, Begging, Breeding Kink, Come Eating, Come Marking, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, M/M, Peter is desperate to get fucked, Revenge, Sex Pollen, and Chris takes advantage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 00:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8776615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/pseuds/Arabwel
Summary: "Get up, we don't have time for your theatrics," he says as he approaches the wolf carefully
His words have the wolf whining and curling deeper into himself, trying to pull his knees to his chest so Chris does the only sensible thing; he kicks the wolf none too gently with a steel-toed boot.
Peter doesn't yell, doesn't curse; his eyes flutter open and Chris is struck by how vacant they are, flickering into supernatural blue.
"Get up."
The wolf whines deep in his throat and fuck, he's baring his neck to Chris, back arching and the hunter can see there's more to Peter's curl than just an injured thigh, can see the bulge tenting the too-tight jeans.
****
Peter gets hit with a poison that makes him crave being bred. Chris takes revenge on the sewer incident.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, two fics for one day! Happy Petopher week, lovelies
> 
> Again, thanks to everyone who helped to make this fic happen <3 
> 
> If there is anything you'd like me to tag, please let me know

It’s the kids' fault, it's always the meddling kids' fault that Peter gets into these situations. He should know better than to get involved, should know better than get in harm's way but there's a debt he owes to Lydia Martin so stepping between her and the arrow seems like a small price to pay.

The pain, he expects; the burn of something else, something insidious, something poisonous he doesn't and he gasps, body going rigid.

"Stop being so dramatic," Stiles sneers and he's acting like he expects Peter to just yank the bolt out of his thigh and keep on fighting.

Scott is the one to show concern, briefly, before he takes off to chase the fleeing adversary, leaving Peter swaying on his feet with throbbing pain and heat spreading from his leg.

Oh god, the _heat_.

That's how Chris Argent finds him, not long after but every minute has felt like hours. The kids are long gone, have left Peter to his own devices, after all back up is on its way. 

Peter's yanked the bolt out but the wound is still leaking blood sluggishly, almost healed through. He's laying on the ground on his side, panting and curling around his middle, eyes shining in the dark.

"What do we have here?" Chris's voice is low when he approaches the wolf.

He knows Scott would have smelled wolfsbane, would have let him know if Peter had been lethally poisoned; the alpha cares about every member of his little ragtag pack, even Peter. It's almost charming. No, whatever has Peter slumped over is no ordinary poison.

On the ground, the wolf moans and there's something about that voice that goes straight into Chris's dick; not that it takes much to get him hard around Peter Hale and his penchant for too tight jeans and those fucking v-necks, but there's a guttural, needy echo to the sound.

"Get up, we don't have time for your theatrics," he says as he approaches the wolf carefully

His words have the wolf whining and curling deeper into himself, trying to pull his knees to his chest so Chris does the only sensible thing; he kicks the wolf none too gently with a steel-toed boot.

Peter doesn't yell, doesn't curse; his eyes flutter open and Chris is struck by how vacant they are, flickering into supernatural blue.

"Get up."

The wolf whines deep in his throat and fuck, he's _baring his neck_ to Chris, back arching and the hunter can see there's more to Peter's curl than just an injured thigh, can see the bulge tenting the too-tight jeans.

He watches as Peter struggles to get up, only the wolf isn't standing, or even kneeling - he's struggling to roll over, to hitch his ass up and _present_.

Chris's hackles rise even as his cock throbs against his zipper; He eyes the clearing, sees the bolt Peter has ripped out of his thigh. There's something sticky on it still, a dark purple tinge under the blood and Chris suddenly _knows_ ; the lingering hint of hibiscus in the air only confirms it. 

And oh, Chris knows exactly what he is going to do about this. Because he knows from the glaze in Peter's eyes, from his high pitched whines that the wolf is being affected hard; looks like the poison was not meant for a wolf but someone else, some _thing_ else and poor Peter got in the way. It's only fitting his altruism is going to be rewarded

"Look at you," Chris murmur quietly, but confident Peter will hear him even through his panting breaths.

"Presenting like a little bitch in heat. But that's what you are, aren't you? A bitch in heat. Got all that magic in your blood, telling you to be a good boy and let yourself be bred."

Peter trembles before him, lips forming words that don't come out for a long moment before he spits out a defiant curse.

Chris laughs and nudges Peter's knees further apart with his boot, sending the wolf toppling forward with his face in the dirt. "Not so far gone, are you?"

Peter can barely manage a growl in response; the fire flooding his veins, compelling him to offer himself up, compelling him to _crave_ grows fiercer with Argent's presence; it's as if whatever magical filth is affecting him knows there's someone there, someone who can give him what he wants, what he needs. 

As if his body knows Argent can breed him, can fuck him full of - impossible - pups

"Well?" Argent's voice is rich with amusement and Peter has to fight to hold back a whine, another pulse of heat coursing through his body. His cock is pressing painfully against his jeans, precome soaking through the fabric and he can feel his hole clenching in anticipation. If he had a cunt, he'd be _dripping_ he thinks feverishly, ready for a knot with no preamble.

His words come out as a hoarse croak, "Shut - up - " he wants to tell Argent to help him up, to stop gloating but the words don't come, can't move past the lump in his throat. He inhales deeply, trying to get more words out, only for the sharp scent of another's arousal break through the haze of his own

A shudder wracks Peter's body as it hits him, the knowledge that Argent is aroused, that he's getting off on this, on Peter's misery. He should be angry, should rail against the hunter for his sadistic glee but whatever it is that has his body in its grasp has him moaning, has the need ratcheting higher in him.

Peter's eyes flutter close as he tries to fight it down, tries to gather the strength to - something, anything when Argent steps closer still, when the hunter bends down to put his hand on Peter's neck and _squeezes._

"Get a grip, Hale," Argent's voice is harsh as he yanks Peter up into a high kneel. "I'm getting you out of here."

The wolf doesn't struggle when Chris pulls him up, grabs him by the arm and starts leading him towards the SUV parked nearby. The wound on Peter's leg has already healed, smooth unmarked skin showing through the bloody rip in the denim. There's no reason for Peter to cling to Chris like he does, to look at him with such darkened eyes. Only, when they get to the car and Chris shoves Peter in unceremoniously, the wolf whines bereft.

"Don't worry, you'll get what's coming for you," Chris chuckles as he gets into the driver's seat and buckles in. Peter is staring at him, mouth open and breath coming in soft little whines.

Chris doesn't resist when Peter leans forward and starts rubbing his face on Chris's arm, when the wolf tries to get closer to the hunter's arousal. Because he's not stupid enough to let fangs anywhere near his dick, especially not when he's driving, but having Peter nuzzling his thigh through his jeans and making those high pitched little whines is music to his ears.

It's a short drive to his apartment but by the time they arrive the denim is soaked with drool and Peter's whines have gotten higher in pitch and frequency; the wolf is mouthing at Chris through his jeans, too far gone to use his mouth on the fly but still obedient when Chris slaps his hands away.

Chris is rapidly changing his mind about fucking Peter's mouth; the wolf is fucking gagging for it, those plush lips wet and red and _needy_.

Briefly, Chris considers taking Peter downstairs, tossing him in the cage there, or maybe stringing him up but Peter is whining far too prettily for him to take the time to deal with the extra security in the basement. So up to the apartment it is, with Chris pinning Peter face-down against the mirror in the elevator and enjoying the wolf's pained whimpers.

The glass is blessedly cold against Peter's heated flesh, but as long as he's pressed against it he can't touch, can't get his hands on Argent, can't seek relief, The hunter is pinning him with an arm across the shoulders, not giving Peter the benefit of body contact and even though he's stronger than a mere human, a mere hunter, Peter's strength is sapped by the urges he can barely control.

It almost feels like dying again

Argent pulls him out of the elevator and Peter takes advantage, drapes himself against the hunter as they stumble into the corridor towards the apartment door. Being touched feels so good, eases the heat prickling under his skin, abates the need that's coiling tight in his belly with every breath he takes, the hunter's scent filling his nostrils.

Some atavistic part of him is telling him this is a good mate, a strong mate, helping the compulsion from the damned spell to push him into keening as Argent's hand grabs his ass, kneads hard enough to leave bruises that don't last before Peter is pushed unceremoniously forward until he lands face down on a bed. 

Argent chuckles and the sound goes through Peter, warm and heavy like molasses. "That's it, Peter," the hunter practically purrs, a note of condescension in his voice. "Face down, ass up. That's how you want it, isn't it?"

And Peter can't help it, he can't help the deep shudder that goes through him at the words, can't help the broken " _Please_ \- " that escapes his bitten lips.

The sound of proud Peter Hale begging has Chris harder than he thought possible; he wants his cock in that pert ass right the fuck now. He crosses the distance in two quick strides and gets on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight and Peter whines, back arching as he tries to entice Chris to have at him.

Briefly, Chris considers cutting the jeans off but the wolf is squirming too much, hips rocking back and forth as he mumbles fervent wordless pleas. It would be too messy so instead the hunter's hands find the fly, brush against the heated flesh beneath.

Peter yowls at the touch, a full-body shudder going through him; he begs, with actual words as Chris pulls his jeans down over the pert globes of his ass, a stream of please and fuck me and Argent. The wolf has the perfect ass for fucking, Chris thinks as he slaps one pale cheek, watches the flesh jiggle as a red handprint fades far too quickly. 

Peter whines when Chris reaches for the lube in the dresser, hips bucking under the hunter's weight. And fuck, it feels good to have that ass pressing against him, even through the layers of denim and underwear, so plush and hot and primed for it.

Chris slicks up two fingers and slides them inside the wolf; Peter keens, back arching beautifully as his head comes up and his eyes roll back in his head.

"This is what you want, is it?" Chris murmurs as he crooks his fingers, hits that one spot that will have Peter seeing stars. "Getting fucked?"

Peter tries to shake his head, tries to deny it but _fuck_ , Argent's fingers are hitting him just right, pushing him towards the edge; when the hunter twists his fingers it's too much and Peter comes with a cry, splattering his belly and the bed with his seed

He slumps forward, gasping for breath,waiting for the heat in his blood to fade, but if anything it surges higher. Peter whimpers when the fingers withdraw, when Argent grabs him by the hair and yanks him up.

"You made a mess," the hunter's voice is low, almost conversational. "Clean it up, naughty pup."

And then Peter's face is pressed into the comforter, into his own spill, the expectation that he lick it up clear

Watching Peter's pink tongue kitten-lick his come off the dark fabric makes Chris reconsider for a moment, but _fuck it_ , there will be time to fuck the wolf's throat later; he is not going to miss his chance to fuck Peter Hale's ass. 

For a moment he's worried, worried that the orgasm he wrenched out of the wolf with his fingers was enough to break the spell, but it's clear that he pegged the spell right, that Peter is still craving it, still craving a cock up his ass. And Chris is more than happy to provide it; he considers it fair payback for that rebar, to take his pound of flesh out on Peter's ass.

Peter is just lucky he gets to enjoy this, too. 

Chris grabs the back of Peter's undoubtedly designer shirt and yanks; it rips open easily, baring the wolf's broad shoulders to him, swathes of unmarked skin begging for bruises and bites, begging to be striped with Chris's come.

Peter makes another pleading sound when Chris grips his neck and forces his face into the covers as he uses his other hand to undo his belt and fly; the harsh rasp of the zipper is loud even over the noises Peter makes Chris swears when the cool air hits his dick, when he pulls it out and slicks the precome along the length. He's hard enough to hammer nails and he intends to take it all out on Peter's plush ass.

"That's it, ass up, there's a good bitch," he murmurs as Peter's hips push back, his knees splay open trying to offer his twitching little hole to be taken.

Chris keeps murmuring filth, calling Peter a needy slut, a cock-hungry little whore, a bitch begging to be bred as he moves to touch the tip of his cock on Peter's hole, feels the way it flutters, tries to pull him in.

"You wouldn't even need the spell to be this desperate, would you? You'd roll over and beg for it anyway," Chris pants as he lets just the tip sink in, lets the head of his cock be enveloped in the inhuman heat of Peter's tight ass.

Chris stops only for a moment before he presses on, the urge to be buried balls deep in that tight heat overwhelming. Peter's body ripples around him, the broad shoulders straining to arch up.

"That's it," he pants as skin meets skin, cock buried deep inside the wolf. "Good pup." 

It's as if finally having a cock in him gives Peter clarity; he groans under the hunter, the words muffled by the comforter but still unmistakably "Move, dammit."

Chris grins. "Say please." He accompanies his words with a minute jerk of his hips.

Peter swears, blood rushing through his ears as he tries to buck back against the hunter, tries to get more - he _needs_ to be fucked, needs to feel pounded and taken and _bred_ , the urge heavier, clearer now, an ache at the pit of his belly and not just a heat along his skin. 

Argent laughs and nudges his hips forward, heavy cock dragging over Peter's prostate and it's as if something snaps inside the wolf, whatever last stand of dignity he had in the face of this, whatever little coherence he has left aimed at only one thing - begging the hunter to fuck him, to breed him, to fill him up with his seed

Peter's voice breaks over the words, his breath coming in sharp pants as he begs, repeated pleas for more and please and hard crossing his slack lips

"- Fuck, Argent, fill me up, please, oh fuck please, breed me, _break me_ on your cock, get me fat with your pups - " and maybe it's the words, maybe it's the way Peter's body goes pliant with need but it’s enough to draw a growl from the hunter, enough to make him _move_ : 

Peter cries out as Argent slams forward, the pace he sets fast and brutal. Bruises form and disappear and form again on Peter's neck where the hunter grips him hard, pinning him to bed even as his other hand rakes human blunt nails down Peter's sides hard enough to leave stinging welts. He sobs when Argent's hand curls up around his hip, fingers almost brushing against his neglected dick, already hard again and bobbing against his belly.

Chris doesn't hesitate when he notices the wolf is hard again; he reaches out to wrap a hand around Peter's cock and lets it slide through the circle of his fingers, still wet from Peter's earlier orgasm; the way that ass squeezed down on his fingers so tight when he first came, Chris wants to feel that around his cock. He chuckles breathlessly as he rubs his thumb over the tip of Peter's cock, smearing the wetness along the shaft. "Come for me, puppy, let me feel you give it up for me." 

Peter trembles for what feels like an eternity but in reality can't be more than seconds, then he's coming helplessly, body clenching tight around Chris's cock. Chris groans and pulls his hand away from Peter's dick, grabs the wolf by the hair and lets go of last of his inhibitions. He pounds into the wolf, drives his cock deep into Peter's tight ass, chasing his own release.

Beneath him, Peter whimpers, body arching in his hold as the hunter uses him hard. Chris can feel his orgasm building up, the back of his neck tingling as heat gathers at the bottom of his spine; he pulls out at the very last moment, cursing as his come splatters hotly all over Peter's back and thighs, marking the wolf as his for all to see. 

Peter cries out when Chris's come hits him, the hot, wet droplets like a brand on his feverish skin. The fever that isn't abating, not even with Chris's come on him, not with the two gut-wrenching orgasms that make him think if he comes again he'll come dry. But there's enough presence of mind in him to try to move from under Argent's hold, to curse the hunter for his sadistic nature. "Dammit, Argent - "

Argent's voice is full of amusement as he speaks. "Still not enough, Peter? You still want more, want my come in your ass? Want to get _bred_?" And the words make Peter shiver, make his cock sit up and take notice. Because it's still there, that glowing urge at the pit of his stomach to be filled, to be used, to be _bred_ like a bitch.

Argent moves to lean back against the headboard and pulls off his shirt, baring a tightly muscled body with many scars; the one in his abdomen still pink and fresh:

"Come here, Peter. You're going to use that pretty mouth of yours to get me hard again and then maybe, _maybe_ I'll fuck you, fill your belly with my seed."

Peter shudders and closes his eyes, unable to keep from licking his lips. When Argent reaches for him, when he twines his fingers through Peter’s hair, Peter leans into the touch and lets himself be led.

“Good boy.”


End file.
